


Dear Wren,

by AH_is_the_element_of_surprise



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Farm/Ranch, F/F, adoption au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-03-01 05:59:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13288461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AH_is_the_element_of_surprise/pseuds/AH_is_the_element_of_surprise
Summary: In Welsh wren means ruler. In English it’s the name of a songbird bird and means from the farm.Wren just wanted to know where he came from. He wanted to know why his hair was dirty blonde and his eyes were brown. He wanted to know why he was so small yet so brawny. Most of all he wanted to know why the people who had raised him had just told him he was not their own. If he was not theirs then who was he? His father had told him he was still Wren Cooper of Oak Tree farm, then Wren received an envelope from his father and suddenly he was not Wren Cooper of Oak Tree farm at all.





	Dear Wren,

In Welsh wren means _ruler._ In English it’s the name of a songbird bird and means _from the farm_.

Wren just wanted to know where he came from. He wanted to know why his hair was dirty blonde and his eyes were brown. He wanted to know why he was so small yet so brawny. Most of all he wanted to know why the people who had raised him had just told him he was not their own. If he was not theirs then who was he? His father had told him he was still Wren Cooper of Oak Tree farm, then Wren received an envelope from his father and suddenly he was not Wren Cooper of Oak Tree farm at all.

Through the darkness of the early morning, Wren could hear a barn owl hooting somewhere around him. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as the horses huffed below him and the chickens clucked through sleep. His favourite place in the whole world was on top of the barn conversion he had lived in his whole life. Up there, it was just him, the moon and nature. When he was smaller, noises in the dark used to scare him, but now, at fifteen, he welcomed them. He couldn’t see anything but anything could see him, up there he could hear anything but anything couldn’t hear him.

The barn conversion had two bedrooms and a living area that had a kitchen in with it. His parent’s bedroom was bigger than his, they had a large double bed in the middle of the room and to the left there was a small bathroom with a shower. His bedroom was next door but tucked away in the corner. To get to his door he had to step down two small steps no lower than half a foot each. His door had a latch instead of a handle and made it almost impossible to sneak out of, not that he ever had any need to. He too had a double bed, a present when Zinc, his all black Springer Spaniel, peed on his old single mattress. His ceiling was slanted, which even for him at five foot two inches, made half of his room unusable unless he was sat at his desk. The lowest point of his room was unusable anyway as it was covered in a book case, which he had filled both ten foot long shelves. In one corner of the highest part of his room was a bathroom with a basin, a toilet and a shower. He really only need to leave his room to eat but chose to spend most of his day either on the yard or in his green leather chair in the sitting room when he was not at school.

Below this space were four stables and the yard where Wren kept his Fordson Super Major he had been gifted by his parents. Behind the barn the ducks had a pond and a pen, and the pigs lived beside them in their sty. His father liked to joke it resembled his room. On the hill lived the chickens and the goats under the canopy of five large oak trees. They had four fields, two where the horses lived during the night in summer and the day in winter, one for the sheep and another where his uncle’s four dairy cows roamed.

 

Living on a farm came with noise. During the day it was the growl of his tractor and the clang of his trailer bouncing up the hillside; it was Mrs Anderson tooting her horn before every corner she wanted to turn down.  Every day Mrs Anderson would toot her horn and every day Wren would wonder if it was to alert other drivers or every single man, woman, child and animal that she was on her way. Daytime noise was the animals neighing, bleating, clucking, quacking and oinking and they slowly withered away as Wren hadn’t fed them for a few hours. Night time noise was different, quieter, yet it was his favourite. The animals he lived along side went to sleep and so did the world. There was no tooting of horns or grumbling of tractors only the breeze through the oak trees and the nocturnal animals that greeted him with hoots or snuffles.

On this particular night there was another noise that could be heard by anything and that was the occasional flap of a yellowing envelope wren held in his hand. The almost full moon illuminated his name, which was written in block letters on the front of the envelope. Instead of opening the letter, Wren listed the constellations he could see around the waning gibbous. The stars and the moon were so far away yet he felt so close to them. In that very moment he wondered if the author of the letter was too looking at the moon and stating the moon was missing a slice on the right hand side, therefore it was a waning gibbous instead of waxing. He wondered if instead of looking at the moon the author was looking at the sun. Not directly at the sun, his mother had told him he’d hurt his eyes if he looked directly at the sun. She’d also taught him how to ride horses and do the rounds on the farm; his father had taught him how to drive a tractor and harvest the hay. They’d told him they’d still be his mother and father no matter what and he believed them with his whole heart because they were the people who had raised him. However, Wren was an understanding and compassionate boy. He knew that for whatever reason, the authors of the letter couldn’t have raised him or he wouldn’t be with Ethan and Isabella Cooper of Oak tree farm and he wouldn’t be Wren Cooper, he’d be Wren someone else. As he sat under the mighty wisdom of the moon, he did not hate and he did not blame, but he did want to know.

With shaky hands he turned over the yellowing paper, quickly reciting the reason paper goes yellow, just to procrastinate further.

_Paper goes yellow because of oxidation. Paper is wood. Wood is white cellulose and lignin. Lignin and air makes the paper yellow._

His teachers had told him for a farm boy he was smart. With this left-handed compliment, he went away and spent his evening’s nose deep in books about science and world, his favourite however were books about history and the people before him. He had learnt to speak Spanish, French and Latin just because other people in the world spoke them and this way he felt closer to them. It was a way of communicating and he felt that it was his duty to understand it.

He considered the three languages he knew and thought that maybe the author knew or spoke them. Maybe that’s why he was so keen to learn them. Then he contemplated why he hadn’t seen it before. He had dirty blonde hair, his parents hair were both jet black and their eyes blue. The only thing Isabella read was the TV magazine while he had stacks upon stacks in his small room at the end of the corridor. The only reason Ethan was so physically fit was because he lifted bricks and worked machinery all day, yet Wren was a keen athlete who left the barn early just to run the three miles to school. More than once he had come home bloodied and bruised for attempting to stop fights or standing up for someone while Ethan told him to just “ _let it be Wren, ain’t no point causin’ trouble”._

Wren decided that in his hands was his future. Whatever the letter said would decide where he went from there. Would he reach out to his biological parents or would he use the letter as a bookmark and pretend this never happened? The next few minutes would determine the rest of his life.

The lip was tucked into the envelope itself and with great care he pulled it away. Retrieving the piece of A4 from within, Wren opened it out, half expecting it to crumple to pieces in his hands. When the creases stood firm, flattened it on his leg and gazed upon the block lettering that looked just like his own.

_Dear Wren,_

From the first two words he declared the author wrote in the English language, and that narrowed it down to just over fifty English speaking countries where the author could have lived and out of the three hundred and seventy five million people who lived there at least two of them were his biological parents. He had roughly the same odds of choosing them at random as he did winning the Powerball lottery.

“Brilliant.” He mumbled.

_By the time you receive this you will be fifteen, that's a whole lot of time you either did or didn’t know the truth as to why we missed out on your life. Giving you up wasn’t easy, we waited so long to get you and the moment you arrived we had to let you go for your own safety._

Questions span in Wren’s mind only the letter could answer but he had to take a moment. They knew he was fifteen so through his skills of inference and deduction, Wren realised Ethan and Isabelle had to have met his real parents at least once. What did they mean by they waited so long? Every parent has to wait at least nine months to see their child what made them wait longer? Why wasn’t it safe with them?

**Author's Note:**

> Hello All!  
> Please let me know what you thought! Do you want more from Wren Cooper/Wren Cooper who is not really a Cooper?  
> Any Comments and Kudos are greatly appreciated and hopefully you all want to read more!  
> Thankyou for reading i do hope you all enjoyed it as much as i did writing it! :D


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